


Coming To Terms With It

by Rachcake1



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John figures it out first, Johnlock Fluff, Love, M/M, Mycroft is actually helpful, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachcake1/pseuds/Rachcake1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John figures it out first. Sherlock doesn't know how to deal. Tea is very hot. Mycroft actually helps. Fluff ensues.</p><p>This is the first fic I've completed and posted. It's unbeta'd. Constructive criticism encouraged.</p><p>Edit: Ok guys, I messed with the formatting. It's still a little weird but hopefully it's easier to read this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming To Terms With It

Thirty seconds.

That’s all it had been. Thirty seconds from the time John had gotten up from his chair, walked into the kitchen to take the screaming kettle off the heat, and walked back into the sitting room to ask Sherlock if he’d like a cup of tea, only to find Mycroft Holmes sitting in his barely vacated seat. John looked to Mycroft, then to the long figure of Sherlock- curled up, yet somehow still stretched across the length of the sofa, his back to the room- then back to Mycroft. “How…when…you…?” John trailed off, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“How eloquent of you, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft sneered in his usual tone, which somehow managed to convey boredom, amusement and condescension all at once. At first it had annoyed John, but over time he had gotten used to it, in much the same way he’d gotten used to Sherlock’s way of regarding…well, everything. John shook his head as if to clear away the confusion, and asked Mycroft if he fancied a cup of tea. Mycroft accepted and John turned to the moping dressing gown-clad form of his friend and flat mate. “How about you Sherlock?”

Silence.

John tried again, a little louder this time: “Sherlock! I said, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Piss off!” came the angrily spit words from the sofa. Ordinarily, this type of reaction would have set John off, either with anger of his own, or at the very least, confusion. This time, however, he only chuckled, turning back to the kitchen to prepare the tea.

“Something bothering you, brother mine?” Mycroft asked, mockingly, the ever present half-sneer-half-smile carving its way across his face.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” John said, returning with a tray carrying three steaming cups of tea. He handed one to Mycroft, saying “He’s just angry because I figured out his secret.” Mycroft quirked an eyebrow over his teacup as he blew the steam away, cooling the surface of the liquid. “Oh? And, which secret might that be?” he asked.

John placed the tray on the table- or more precisely, on top of a stack of papers and books on top of the table- and sat on the sofa in the little space made behind Sherlock’s bent legs, his lower back touching the back of his knees. He grabbed a second cup and held it in two hands, slightly turning toward Sherlock in an attempt to offer it to him, while replying matter-of-factly “That he’s in love with me.”

Two things happened simultaneously as soon as the words left his mouth: Mycroft choked on his tea, and Sherlock abruptly swung his legs around John in an attempt to pull himself into a sitting position, jostling the doctor and causing him to spill his steaming tea into his lap. John made a noise halfway between a gasp and a scream as the tops of his thighs met the scalding liquid. “Ow, fuck! Sherlock! What the hell?!”

“Just shut up, John!” Sherlock yelled, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He didn’t seem to notice John get up from the sofa, run up the stairs to change his wet clothes and check his scalded flesh. He just sat, slowly rocking back and forth, long fingers tangled in his curls. His bright eyes were fixed blankly on a spot on the floor as he took too deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

Mycroft, who had since recovered from his near drowning, sat regarding his brother silently for a few moments, before quietly saying “So, it’s true then.” A statement, not a question.

“It can’t be. Can’t be true.” Sherlock said, almost more to himself than in response to his brother. “It’s impossible!” Lifting his head from his hands, he turned his head to look at Mycroft, his eyes wide and full of confusion and fear. “Tell me it’s impossible?” he said, quietly, almost pleadingly. Mycroft exhaled a long sigh, leaned forward and placed his half empty cup on the table. “Oh, dear little brother. What mess have you gotten yourself into now?” Sherlock just blinked at him, and he continued. “You shouldn’t take your anger out on John, just because he figured it out before you did. Everyone figured it out before you did, Sherlock. The world’s only consulting detective. You can catch a murderer by one glance at his shoes, but you can’t understand your own heart.” Mycroft shook his head slowly, eyes downcast, a sadness behind them.

“It’s true then? I’m in love with John?” Sherlock repeated the words in his head a few times, Mycroft silently allowing him to catch up. “I’m in love with John.” he finally said out loud, more to himself than to his brother. “I am in love with John Watson.”

“Ah, there we are.” Mycroft said softly. Sherlock’s bright eyes snapped to his brother, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not going to chastise me?”

Mycroft sighed again. “Sherlock, everything I could possibly say, you already know. Saying them would be redundant at this point. Besides, the damage has already been done. You are in love with John, there’s nothing you can do about it now. And anyway,” here he hesitated a little before admitting “the heart cannot choose who it loves, brother. Yes, we can choose to ignore it, choose to push it away, to hide it from ourselves and others. But you couldn’t hide it from John. He has always seen through your walls, past the façade you put up to protect yourself. He’s always been able to see the real you, though no one else could, including yourself.” Sherlock nodded his head, silently acknowledging the truth behind the older Holmes’ words. “He loves you too, you know.” Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock’s head snapped up again, quickly looking over at his brother in surprise, mouth open to speak- when John came bounding down the stairs in a new, dry pair of trousers. He had removed his tea-soaked jumper but left the powder blue button down shirt he’d been wearing underneath, and changed from the noisy brown corduroys into a more fitted pair of black slacks. “Well, my skin was a bit red but not burnt. Think I’ll pull through.” John said, a cheeky grin on his face. He made his way back over to the sofa and sat next to Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder and saying “You’ve got to be more careful, mate. I’m alright this time, but that could’ve easily caused a burn.” He said the words, sounding for all the world like a parent chastising a child, but punctuated the end with a kind smile.

Sherlock blushed. Actually blushed. Sherlock never blushed, and the knowledge that his embarrassment was plain on his face only made his cheeks burn hotter. With eyes downcast, he mumbled “M’sorry, John.”

John was slightly taken aback by the rarely heard Sherlock apology, but recovered quickly. “S’alright, no harm done.” he said, instantly forgiving his friend and merrily turning his attention to Mycroft. ”Fancy another cup of tea?” he asked, reaching for his own partially filled cup, and Sherlock’s untouched one, both now cold. “No, thank you, John, I’m afraid I must be going now.” With that, Mycroft stood, umbrella in hand, and took his leave of the flat.

John huffed a small laugh and shook his head, placing all three cups on the tray before standing up and saying: “And I thought you were the odd one.” John smiled down at Sherlock, who looked up at him as if seeing his best friend for the first time. “Alright, let’s try this again. I’ll make us some more tea, eh?” John said, reaching down and stroking Sherlock’s curls. The gesture only lasted a second before John bent over to pick up the tray, then carried it back into the kitchen. Sherlock sat silently on the sofa, listening to the sounds of John making tea in the other room. He contemplated his brother’s words for a moment before standing up and following John.

“John, I…” he started, the words sticking in his suddenly dry throat. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said “I love you.” John turned around just in time to see Sherlock open first one eye, then the other, as if checking to see if the coast was clear, if it were safe to come out of hiding. John smiled at him warmly, saying “Now was that so hard? It took a visit from your brother for you to admit it? Is it that difficult to admit I’m right?” He said this with a bright smile, teasing and friendly.

Sherlock, however, kept his face serious, too serious for the amiable mood John was in. A look of concern flashed across the doctor’s face, his brows knitted together, a frown replacing the smile.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock kept his eyes away from John’s face. He stared at John’s shoes as he said, shyly, “Mycroft… Mycroft said… something.”

“Mycroft said something? What, did he tease you? Look Sherlock, it’s fine. Don’t listen to him, it’s ok to…”

Sherlock cut him off: “No, John, he didn’t tease me. He didn’t even scold me. He said… He said… He said you love me too.” Sherlock said the words in a rush, as though pushing them out of his body as quickly as possible, hoping they didn’t hurt too much on the way out. After a few tensely silent moments, Sherlock opened his mouth to tell John just how stupid Mycroft was, but the sound of John’s voice cut off his words before they reached his tongue.

“Of course.”

Sherlock looked up to find John’s face completely serious. No wide, teasing grin. No look of concern. Just an open, honest face. “Of course I do.” John repeated, his face relaying the message 'I can’t believe you didn’t know'. “Sherlock, of course I love you. Isn’t it obvious?” John crossed the kitchen in a few short strides, stopping directly in front of the detective. Sherlock had dropped his eyes to the floor again, silently saying 'Not to me'. John reached up with both hands, putting them behind his friend’s neck, and pulling his head down so their foreheads rested together. They both closed their eyes, relishing the contact, and John said “Oh Sherlock. You brilliant, stupid man. You can see when I’ve switched to a new toothpaste, or where I went to lunch, but you can’t see the most blatantly obvious thing of all?” John’s hands came around to cup Sherlock’s jaw on either side, thumbs brushing his sharp cheekbones. Sherlock released a shuddering sigh, somewhere between a sob and a sigh of relief. John pulled his head back slightly from the taller man, who opened his eyes to look down at him. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“And I love you, John.” John pulled Sherlock’s face back down to his, gently pressing his lips against the lips of his suddenly-more-than-friend’s. After a beat, Sherlock began kissing him back, actively participating in a real kiss for the first time in his life. Time around them seemed to slow, everything melted away except for the two of them. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, who still held his love’s face gently cradled is his firm hands.

Behind them, the tea kettle began to whistle.


End file.
